


Priestess, Sister, Lover, Witch

by HannibabestheCannibabes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Camelot, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, F/F, Fantasy, Magic, Pre-Canon, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2019-08-17 06:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16510775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannibabestheCannibabes/pseuds/HannibabestheCannibabes
Summary: 'This girl will be a warrior. A soldier. She will bring Kingdoms to their knees. She will be the one to cause the persecuted to rise, and the mighty to fall. This child will kill a king.’The story of Morgause: a child given away to serve the Triple Goddess, she must survive the purges of Uther Pendragon and establish a place in a World controlled by men, to fulfill her foreseen destiny.





	1. Prologue- An Unwanted Birth

_**I began this work many years ago on a different website however have decided to rewrite this from the beginning. Enjoy.** _

**Prologue**

**An Unwanted Birth**

In the light of the barely-there moon, the sliver of which visible the only white in the black night, it was almost impossible to see the lone figure on the streets. Should more light have been present, it would have been possible to make out a cloak of midnight blue, the hood held by shaking hands in the Winter wind, as the figure darted over cobbles, making their way through the dark.

* * *

 

A knock on the door awoke Gaius. Eyes still tight with the sleep his body was screaming at him to return to, he stumbled out of bed, reaching for his woollen overcoat as he did so. The material firmly wrapped around him, his bones admittedly old and requiring such protection in the later months, he lit a small candle and let it lead him through his quarters.

He opened the door; face carefully arranged into as stern a position as possible given the early hour. ‘Unless this is an emergency, you should have waited until the morn.’ He started speaking before he realised with whom he was faced. He felt himself stammer. ‘Lady Vivienne.’

‘Gaius.’ Dark tear-stained eyes met his. Her pale cheeks still glistened wet with tears. ‘I need your help.’

‘Of course.’ He stood back, sinking into a low bow as he did so, allowing her to enter. He noted with curiosity the dust and dirt that had collected on the bottom of her long cloak. She had made effort to see him. ‘Forgive the mess, my Lady, I could not have expected…’

He gestured to the bottles and jars that littered his tables and shelves, but she merely shook her head. ‘Do not treat me as you do others, Gaius. I don’t need your apologies. Just help me. Please.’

The desperate note in her voice forced him to rise. ‘What do you need? What’s troubling you?’

‘What ails me is more than a trouble.’

‘Are you in danger, my Lady?’

At his question, she turned to face him, dropping her cloak to the floor, revealing the proud curve of her stomach. ‘Only from my husband.’

With that, Vivienne sunk to the floor, her face hidden in her hands, body racked with sobs. From this position, she seemed no older than a child, the last time Gaius had treated her as travelling physician in the Five Kingdoms. The memory stirring him, Gaius reached out and placed a hesitant hand on her back, intending to soothe, but resulting only in her eliciting a loud groan and sobbing more profusely. She stopped only as a small wooden cup was pushed into her hand, and she drank the sour mixture within, hiccupping with the remnants of her tears.

‘The drink will calm you, my Lady.’ Gaius sat in the chair beside her. ‘For you must be calm in your condition.’

‘My condition?’

‘You’re with child, as you know. That is nothing to grieve so.’

‘It is. Oh, it is. I assure you.’ She glanced up at him, wide eyes still brimming with tears but held back, her cheeks wet. ‘You must help me get rid of it, Gaius. I cannot have it. I do not want it. Please, Gaius. I will do anything required. Just get rid of it for me.’

He frowned. ‘Lady Vivienne, you ask something I simply cannot do.’

‘I know the law. I know what is said about such an act.’ Her lip was wobbling as she spoke. ‘But I cannot live with this. You need to help. I must get rid of this, this…thing that lives in me. That grows off me. That feeds off me.’ Her voice hovered between panic and anger, fluttering and fragile as a moth trapped behind glass. ‘Who has the right to force me to allow this? It’s my choice, is it not? This thing couldn’t live without me. It’s my choice, whether to give my body, my soul, to it? You can’t force me. You can’t force me…’

She was beginning to shake in rage, the sight of which compelled Gaius to sink to the floor alongside her, ignoring the straining ache in his legs, to take the Lady’s hands. ‘You misunderstand me. If I wanted to help you, Vivienne, I would help you. I recognise the law is unjust, and choice should be yours. But you are too far with child for my remedies to have any effect.’ He felt his own heart splinter at the dulling of Vivienne’s eyes as he spoke. ‘But a child needn’t be such a burden, my Lady. Your husband has wanted such a blessing for many years. He will cherish the babe, even if you feel no such joy yourself.’

She laughed, the sound bitter and cracked with grief. ‘It is for my babe’s sake I would destroy it, before my sweet husband does.’

Gaius raised a solitary eyebrow. ‘Vivienne, what have you done?’

He had begun to feel the mismatched pieces of the night fall into place, and was confirmed by the Lady’s reaction, snatching her hands back with a scowl. ‘I did not come to you for judgement.’

‘Why do you want rid of your child?’

‘Do not ask me that.’

He frowned. ‘Should you wish my help, I need an answer.’

‘You have already told me you can offer me no help.’

She had stood haughtily, as if physical distance would end the conversation she found so difficult. Yet, the physician remained on the floor, and she offered her arm for support. He kept hold of it one on his feet. ‘I cannot do as you ask. I can offer you no help in getting rid of the child. But I still may be able to help. If I know why you require my help, of course.’

She shook her arm free. The fleeting glimmer of hope on her face fell to a sullen pout. ‘Fine, Gaius, if you insist on such. The child is not Lord Gorlois’ child. Judge me as you will.’

She had attempted to sound aloof, prideful, but her tone rang hollow and her eyes welled up once more. She moved to cover her face but Gaius took her hands and led her to the table to sit. ‘You are certain?

‘Yes.’

‘Why, Vivienne?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘When Gorlois is so good to you?’

‘Good to me?’ At that, her face became hard, her dark eyes narrow. ‘Because he has told you so? Or because that is the assumption? The assumption that a man who is in favour must be good to all those who surround him?’

‘I have heard him speak of his love for you, of his great want of a family…’

‘Gorlois spends half his time fighting the battles of Uther Pendragon, slaughtering boys who are barely men and have been forced into armour since infanthood, and he spends the other half fucking all the whores of the Five Kingdoms. If Gorlois speaks of his love for me, then that is more love than I have ever felt from him, that he should waste his breath with such empty words of affection. What else could possibly have caused my eye to wander? My heart to stray? Perhaps that my darling husband is a man of double my eighteen years? That his touch is rough and his movements hurt, and I didn’t realise that there were men with gentle touch until I felt touch that was not his? But, of course, if Gorlois says he loves me, why his words must be true.’

‘Men with gentle touch? There has been more than one?’

If she had wished him to listen to her, to sympathise with her, and was disappointed with his reaction, she did not show it. Instead, Vivienne jutted out her chin, unashamed. ‘Yes. More than one.’

‘Vivienne…’

She noted the look on his face, and felt her head bow. ‘Mild flirtations, Gaius, with all but one man. I cannot say why I didn’t stop it, but I realised my mistake too late, and my then I was already burdened with the proof.’

Her hand had gone to her stomach, whether protectively or instinctively, it was impossible to tell. Gaius sighed. ‘How long?’

‘Seven months.’

He had been hoping for something smaller, that his earlier estimate had been incorrect, and he had something to offer her after all. But for all the jars and vials on his shelves, the yellowing books that covered his walls, nothing existed to halt the further quickening of the flutter within Vivienne’s womb.

‘How are you possibly hiding this from Gorlois?’ He asked suddenly, lines on his face deepening in confusion.

‘I’m not. He believes the babe to be his.’

‘Why can you not continue such a notion after the birth? Surely your husband will never know?’

The Lady took a deep breath, eyes closed as Gaius spoke. When she opened them once more, she refused to meet his. ‘The man. The father. He was a religious man.’

Gaius had, of course, heard of such behaviour from men of religion. Often travelling missionaries across the Kingdoms, whose days were spent preaching the morals of their god, and their nights kept breaching the very same moral codes. Bound by oaths they rarely kept. ‘His heresy will not harm you.’

‘He was of the Old Religion.’

‘So the child will be born…’

‘With magic, yes.’

He closed his eyes, and breathed deeply for a minute or two in silence. Outside the window, birds were beginning to stir, the sky beginning to lighten, the night surrendering her reign for another day. ‘You present me with a difficulty, my Lady.’

‘I am currently faced with the same.’

The physician fell silent again, deep in thought. Vivian sat, straight, oblivious to all but the man before, who seemed to hold her fate in his hands. Eventually, he opened his eyes. ‘There may be something I can do.’

She felt her heart leap at his words, a feeling that must have showed on her face for Gaius shook his head slowly. ‘I still cannot rid you of the child. Seven months is too long, even for the most advanced of physicians. What I may be able to do is find a place to take the child once it is born. Somewhere the babe will be safe, where any signs of magic the child may show will not cause harm, either for itself or for you.’

‘You think you can?’ She felt the all too familiar choking in her throat, this time from tears of relief, the weight from her heart beginning to lift. ‘What about my husband? He expects a child.’

‘When your time is near, send for me as your physician, Vivienne. I will take the babe then, and to your husband I will say that the child was born dead. It is a common enough result. But he will grieve, and you must provide comfort.’

‘I can. I will.’ She grabbed his hands, clutching them hard in hers. She bent her head and kissed them gently, over and over. ‘Thank you. Oh, thank you.’

* * *

 

He was too old for such behaviour, he reflected bitterly, as he stood waiting in the dark. Gaius pulled the heavy cloak tighter around his shoulders and he glanced around with unease. He would feel more comforted if any of his surroundings were visible, yet the night was black, and any light from the few solitary stars were hidden behind tall trees, whose shadows only served to heighten the menace of the unknown beyond. The silence was deafening in his ears. He wanted something, anything, except such booming nothing.

‘Ah Gaius, you came.’ He recognised her voice instantly, low and soulful, a million stories held within its deep tones. Tonight however, it held also faint amusement as he turned quickly, and was surprised to see nothing. It took him a moment or so to realise that she herself had hidden in the dark night, the only sight of her being the whites of her eyes in the shadow.

He sunk into a bow. ‘I came alone as you requested.’

‘Well, one can’t be too careful nowadays.’ She stepped forwards, until she was visible to him, and he could make out her figure, supported by a heavy wooden staff that came just to her shoulder. She extended her free hand to help raise the man back to full height. She stood a moment as if examining him, before her face broke into a wide smile. ‘Now, come, we need not be out on such a cold eve. Let’s go to the tavern.’

The High Priestess Zakiya of the Triple Goddess slammed two large tankards of ale in front of Gaius, chuckling at his raised eyebrows.

‘I was not aware the Old Religion was tolerant of such behaviour,’ he noted, taking a small sip as Zakiya sat down. The tavern was still suitably busy enough for such comments to pass underneath the collective babble of the rest of the custom.

‘Our religion is not like yours. The Triple Goddess actually wishes us to enjoy our lives.’ She took a long gulp before wiping her hand on the back of her sleeve, her eyes crinkling in silent laughter at her companion once more as she did so. ‘Come, Gaius, surely you did not forget how I could always out drink you? How with the same amount of ale, I could continue my day, whilst you lay in a stupor on the floor? It happened so many many times.’

‘I remember well. And surely you have not forgotten that I do not have religion for you to throw at me.’

‘No,’ she said, her face solemn suddenly. ‘Neither new or old.’ She tilted her head as she continued t stare at him. The candlelight caught on the silver beginning in her long braids, new since the last time they had met. ‘What do you want from me, Gaius?’

‘I thought as a High Priestess you had the gift of vision.’

A roll of the eyes as she attempted to suppress a smile. ‘You have never taken the Old Religion seriously, old man.’

‘As old as you.’

‘And I am old.’ She smirked. ‘If this is an attempt to woo me back…’

‘You’d be so lucky.’

‘Many a man has tried.’ She raised her eyebrows with a deep chuckle. ‘but no, Gaius, why did you ask me here tonight? You have gone fifteen years with no contact, what inspired you after so long?’

Gaius felt himself frown, the dimly lit tavern only serving to make clear the lines etched on his face, lines he did not possess some fifteen years before. ‘I need your help.’

‘Of course you do. Why?’

‘There is a woman…’

‘A woman?’ She clapped her hands, her eyes wide. ‘No wonder you did not come here for me. Who is your woman? What trouble have you got her in?’

‘Not my woman.’ He had blushed, a reaction he had forgotten he was capable of. ‘A woman. A young woman. She came to me a few weeks ago, in need of my assistance. She is with child…’

‘And no longer wishes to be? Done. Send her to me. How many months?’

‘Too many. I warned her of this. The child will be born.’

The High Priestess gave a small frown. ‘Then I fail to understand. What do you want from me if the babe must be born?’

‘I want you to take the child.’

She snorted. ‘And become the guardians to every unwanted child in the Five Kingdoms? You ask too much.’ She shook her head. ‘The Goddess is strict, besides, all those who reside with the Priestesses must have freely chosen. They must be of age. We take no babes.’

‘I don’t ask you to take every child, just this one.’

‘And why?’ She leant back in her chair, arms folded, her face as stern as Gaius had ever seen it. He noted that she too had lines she did not possess before. ‘Beyond this babe being unwanted, an unfortunate trait shared with many others born across this land, why must the Triple Goddess be accepting of this one? You know not even the sex of the infant. You know we accept no males into the convent.’ She could tell from his quiet, from the dulling of his eyes, that he had not anticipated her response. ‘You had assumed I would feel differently?’

‘I ask for one child.’

She sighed deeply. With a slim hand, the green veins much more visible beneath the thin skin than he had ever known yet otherwise unchanged since he had last held it, she reached across the table to take his. ‘Tell me, then, why should this babe be taken in by the Goddess? Who is the mother to you?’

‘She is young. Very young for this to be her life. I have known her since she was a child; she is nought but a child still in many ways. I feel a degree of responsibility for her, paternal responsibility,’ he admitted, with a sigh. ‘It’s true the babe’s sex is unknown. Should it be male, keep him long enough to be safe then send him to an apprenticeship when he comes of age. The mother will never return to claim him. But should the babe be a girl, she can become a Priestess when she is ready. Does this not also benefit you?’

‘You would give her so willingly to the Old Religion?’

‘This child will be of the Old Religion whether or not you take it in. The father was a sorcerer.’

‘Which is why you ask me to take her in now.’ Zakiya nodded, her face still solemn. She was silent for a minute or so before smiling briefly. ‘I will take the child, Gaius. I will take it for you; I will take it for its own sake. Upon the birth of the babe, send for me, and I will come to claim it.’

‘I owe you a great debt.’

‘Save it.’ She stood, glancing around the tavern as she pulled her hood over her face. ‘Keep your debt for this child. It is them you rob here. For I ask that you never tell the mother of the babe’s location. That is my one condition.’

She did not wait for his response. Instead, she swept from the tavern, gone as swiftly as the harsh wind that whipped the World outside. Gaius recognised of course that he had been victorious, yet he found himself too distracted by the sudden cold of his hand.

* * *

 

A scream. Piercing. Another. To those unaware, it would sound otherworldly, the desperate cry of one trapped beyond the veil. But few were unaware of the feat that accompanied such cries.

Lady Vivienne lay back finally against the pillow, damp already from her clammy skin. She tried to breathe, but found herself able to do nought but pant, reduced to a wild animal lying in a mess of her own fluids, expelled by her treacherous body in a mess between her legs. She felt still the thick blood that smeared her inner thighs.

Her eyelids felt heavy, but someone was beside her, holding a small bundle, trying to hand it to her. She lacked even the strength to stretch out her arms.

‘My Lady, you should hold her. At least that.’ Someone took hold of both of her arms and positioned them in front of her, resting on her lap. She looked down as the bundle was placed against her skin.  The cloth was warm and dry, but as stained with blood as she was. From within its shrouds, she found herself meeting a large pair of chestnut eyes.

‘This is your daughter, Vivienne.’ A man’s voice. ‘This is your last chance to keep her, if you wish to.’

Vivienne tilted her head as she stared at the baby in her arms. She felt curiously little for it. Aside from the large eyes, it seemed as unremarkable as any infant, small and wrinkled, lacking in anything identifiable. She could feel still the pain in her womb from where it had forced itself out moments before, yet her heart remained unstirred as she held it. She felt a sudden cold wave of revulsion wash over her, whether at the baby or at herself she was unsure, but she felt her arms push the bundle away. Large hands took it from her, holding it gently once more.

‘Very well, I’ll take her now.’

She watched with empty eyes as the figure left her side, approaching the door. ‘Wait.’ She fumbled with the bracelet on her wrist, pulling it off, thrusting it out. ‘Take this. Give it to her.’

A pitiful apology, the exchange of a small silver bracelet for a mother’s love, and Vivienne closed her eyes as Gaius took her first-born daughter from the room, finally letting herself succumb to sleep.

* * *

 

Zakiya was waiting already when Gaius arrived, the babe asleep in his arms, protecting from the biting chill. The Priestess took her gently, glancing down at her only quickly before nodding to the physician.

‘Thank you once more.’ He bowed deeply, but Zakiya merely met it with a smile.

‘I was wrong when last we spoke, Gaius. It is I who owes you gratitude.’ She looked down again at the child, her smile broadening. ‘For I have read the future of this babe, and I recognise now her place in this World.’

‘You read her future?’ He wished not to feel such a shiver at the words, heightened only by the glint in his companion’s eyes.

‘Do you know who this girl will be, Gaius?’ She asked, before laughing softly. ‘Of course you do not. This girl will be a warrior. A soldier. She will bring Kingdoms to their knees. She will be the one to cause the persecuted to rise, and the mighty to fall.’ Another smile. ‘This child will kill a king.’


	2. The Isle of the Blessed: Chapter 1

** The Isle of the Blessed **

** Chapter 1 **

A hush fell in the hall as the High Priestess entered, a glance from her dark eyes enough to silence any curious novices or chittering elders. Her staff echoed loudly against the stone floor, booming in the still, as she made her way to the centre of the room where a dark wooden table stood. There were seven chairs at the table. Only one, the head, remained empty, waiting for her. The other six were already occupied, one for each of the six Priestesses who sat just below her. Those who, she recognised with startling resentment, would vie for her position upon her death.  It was not a position open to all. Those whom were not qualified, the youthful novices and the overly senior, had arranged themselves into a circle surrounding the table and were now stood, waiting in nervous anticipation.

‘You’re late, Zakiya,’ one of the seated Priestesses commented as the High Priestess sat. She arched an eyebrow.

‘If it displeases you so, Mab, perhaps you should have foreseen the evet and moved the gathering back one hour.’ A soft chuckle from the circle was silenced with a darted stare. Zakiya turned back to the table. ‘Besides, I should love to watch you row the lake with one arm.’

‘Let’s see her then.’

Zakiya pulled back her cloak to reveal the bundle in her arms. She placed the sleeping child on the table softly, careful not to jolt her tiny frame unnecessarily. She was successful, the baby’s eyes not so much as fluttering. The women around the table stood, leaning closer to get a greater look at this new intruder in their home. Only one remained seated, her arms folded, face cast deep in frown.

‘The child doesn’t belong here.’

‘You’ve had your say, Kendre.’

‘I disagree.’ Heads turned at her retort. Kendre drew the attention from the child with her dissent; few spoke such open opposition to the High Priestess. Fewer still survived.

‘You disagree?’ The elder stood to full height, casting her stone stare down the table.

‘Yes, I disagree.’ The other woman sat up straighter, not yet daring to stand, but unwilling to be dismissed. ‘That child does not belong in the convent. This is a place chosen by those who wish to worship and learn, not those who wish to mother an unwanted child. Such an infant will demean the work of the Sisterhood, but you would have us keep it here.’ She recognised that she had the attention of the room and stood, circling the table until she reached the child. When she spoke now, she addressed the entire hall. ‘Why must we then take this burden? It is not ours. Many of us welcomed the Triple Goddess for the opportunity given to reject such futures that society would force upon us. Yet, you would condemn us to this again. For a babe of unknown parentage and no importance. And, when dissent is shown, you refuse to listen, closing your ears to all but your ow voice. Who is this child to possess so much importance?’

‘She has a great destiny.’

‘You say, with no proof to show…’

‘No. I say.’ A voice from the back cut through, interrupting. The gathering parted with hushed whispers, to reveal the speaker responsible. Upon sight of her, silence fell once more.

Kendre’s eyes widened. ‘Priestess Lachesis, my apologies for questioning you…’

A flick of Lachesis’ hand sent Kendre hurtling backwards, too sudden for as much as a gasp to be emitted from her open mouth. She landed with a sickening crunch against a stone pillar, before her body fell slumped to the floor. The other priestesses watched with horror, but did not move, even when a pool of crimson began to form around Kendre’s cracked skull.

‘Lachesis does not need such questions.’ On shaking legs, unsteady with undetermined age, she began to approach the table. After a few steps, she grabbed at the arm of the nearest woman, clutching at her with unexpected grip, and she was forced to accompany the elder to the table, her eyes darting to the unmoving body at the pillar’s base as she did so.

Zakiya watched the approaching woman with wary curiosity. It had, indeed, been Lachesis’ reading of the child’s future that she had shared. Zakiya had been blessed with many gifts, yet was no seer. Though she recognised the elder as a questionable source. Hunched and face lined beyond measure, Lachesis could be a seer, or simply suffering the delusions of the aged. She had been at the convent long before anyone; a permanent fixture much like the gargoyles that grimaced from the walls. She scared the novices also, for reasons quite obvious; her unadulterated violence being one. That and the large blue stones that sat in her quite empty eye sockets.

‘Let’s have the babe then.’ She placed a hand on the table to steady her, and edged around it until she reached the infant, still asleep on the surface. She ran her fingers gently over her skin, nodding slowly. ‘I was unmistaken. This child’s destiny is one of greatness. Lachesis is never mistaken.’

‘What greatness?’

The elder raised her head in the direction of the voice. ‘You cannot see?’ At the responding silence, she shook her head in Zakiya’s direction. ‘You teach these women poorly if they cannot see. This child has a light that shines around her; it seeps from her as she lies. You are all blind.’

‘We are not all blessed, Lachesis.’

She frowned. ‘You shame the Triple Goddess. Her life is wasted on you all. But very well.’ Lachesis took her hands from the table, lifting them to her face. With delicate fingers, she removed the stones from her eyes, leaving the sockets dark. She began to mutter, words undecipherable to those around her. Wisps of smoke began to seep from her sockets, growing thicker as her mouth moved increasingly quicker. Soon, smoke filled the room, smoke of green and purple, deep red and amber. It began to drift upwards, above the heads of the gathered, to form a canvas, a looking glass. Thunder boomed. And, in the smoke, shadows began to form.

A woman was clearly visible above the Priestesses’ heads. She started silhouetted against the dark, but with each passing second became clearer. She was armour clad, on horse-back, men kneeling faceless at her feet.

‘She will be a warrior.’ Lachesis’ harsh tones had gone, replaced with a voice that seemed far removed from the hall. In the smoke, the woman had pulled her sword, her dark eyes narrow. ‘She will lead an army of a thousand men. She will be feared.’

The image in the smoke seemed to shift suddenly. It showed the same woman; long blonde hair falling over her face as she knelt huddled on a stone floor, clutching another to her chest. When she looked up, her cheeks were wet with tears.

‘She will be loving, and be loved.’ In the smoke, the woman bent down, seeming to kiss the woman in her arms. ‘She will understand loss, and sacrifice. She will not ask for this from others to accomplish her gains.’

The smoke changed again. She stood now on a balcony, hands clutching stone, as she looked to the World below with a smile.

‘She will reign. She will counsel. She will rise above. This is her destiny.’ The image in the smoke began to fade, the smoke itself retreating back into the skull of the High Priestess. When only a sliver remained, she bowed her head, replacing the stones from her eyes. There was silence in the hall when her head rose, the gathering still, eyes cast skywards as if for the remnants of the scenes before. Only Zakiya had her attention on the elder.

‘This is all you told me earlier, Lachesis. The future foretold. Do you have anything else?’

‘Yes.’ Lachesis returned her hand to the child, who now laid silently awake, large eyes staring upwards in curiosity as if she had been watching her destiny too. ‘Her name will be Morgause.’

* * *

 

She grew quickly, Zakiya noted, and well. Soon, she was no longer a babe, grown enough to toddle on uncertain feet, confident enough that someone should catch her if she should fall. And caught she always was. Her small mouth worked tirelessly, reproducing the words she heard around her. She knew no language of family, but the language of sisterhood and sorcery.  Soon, she had grown further still, old enough to run throughout the corridors of the convent, bellowing lungs breathing life into stonework long felt dead. She had more life than the Priestesses were accustomed to, but her life was needed. For they found themselves coming to life with her, blood coursing through veins that had felt at standstill, hearts beating that had once sat still. And the convent doors were opened once more.

* * *

 

Oars dipped shallowly into the placid lake, rising with more splash than substance but the dark eyed passenger remained silent. She could do no better; her words of criticism would not be welcomed. That did not prevent the oarswoman from shooting her resentful glances from beneath sandy eyelashes, though she also did not speak.

‘I am uncomfortable with this, Ygraine,’ the passenger finally said, raising her head. ‘This journey is against the law.’

‘The law matters not to us,’ the oarswoman, Ygraine, replied with a slightly mocking smile. ‘Are you afraid, Vivienne?’

It had been five years since the Lady Vivienne had surrendered her first born; an event that had little crossed her mind in the time since. Her only reminder seemed to come from the reflection of her body in the mirror, tiger stripe stretchmarks across her stomach and breasts. Beyond these, nothing reminded her of the girl. Even now, her stomach swollen once more, she thought only of the child she would have. A son. It seemed strong enough to be a son, its strength draining her with every passing day of her term. With just the thought, Vivienne found herself stifling a yawn.

‘You must be tired,’ the other woman remarked. ‘Carrying a child must exhaust you.’

Whilst she had attempted to hide it, Vivienne caught her companion’s embittered tone. ‘You will yourself have a child in due course.’

‘If I am not barren.’

‘Do not be absurd.’ Vivienne shook her head at Ygraine’s self-pity, yet she could imagine such a notion to be true. Whilst she had always been plump, her breasts formed young, her hips wide, Ygraine was her opposite. Taut pale skin stretched over bone, it was as if she was naught but skeleton. Her face was well-shaped with features that would have been attractive if not so fair. Hair that hung, nearly white, from her head. Eyes so blue they seemed clear. She was a child passing as a woman. It would not be a stretch on any imagination to picture her incapable of child-bearing.

‘I speak the truth.’ Ygraine frowned. ‘You do not know the pressure, Vivienne, you have your child, your husband is content.’

‘Uther is content.’

‘He will not remain so, not without an heir.’

‘You do not give your husband enough credit.’

‘As you know him so well?’ Ygraine spat, before retreating, resting the oars, her body almost shrinking into itself. He is desperate, Vivienne, and I cannot deliver. Nothing I do is of help. For all the physicians in Camelot, for all of their remedies and treatments, I remain bare.’

‘A child will come.’

‘It must.’ She picked the oars up once more, glancing back as she did so. The morning mist had begun to clear and now, emerging from the lake, lay the Isle of the Blessed, and the Convent of the Triple Goddess.

* * *

 

The child glanced up when she heard the doors creak open. She had in front of her a book in a language of which she was still uncertain. She had been tasked with reading its text, a remarkable request for a child not yet half a decade in years. She seemed to feel it also, her attention much more easily fixed on the new guests in her secluded hall, than on the musty pages.

‘You have been absent much longer than anticipated, Lady Ygraine.’ Morgause recognised the voice of the High Priestess, and she stood from the small patch of stone floor she had been occupying to edge around a column, her curiosity too great to resist.

She knew Zakiya. She smiled at just the sight of her. The other two women she felt more unsure of. She had a foggy recognition of one woman, the image blurred by the vague memory possessed by children. The woman was small and thin, blonde hair much paler than Morgause’s own. She had seen a woman similar to this before, although she had worn a dress of deep red as opposed to the silver of today.

‘You understand the dangers of such a journey.’

‘You are a frequent visitor here?’ The other woman drew Morgause’s attention with her question, asked with a scowl. She was unknown to the child. Dark haired and pale, jewelled hand resting on her curved stomach, she kept making uneasy glances around the hall. She did not keep Morgause’s restless attention for long.

‘I have been making visits here for a number of years, yes.’ The blonde woman appeared to frown. ‘Do you question me, Vivienne?’

‘I question your judgement, yes.’ The dark woman had become agitated, her voice sharper, though Morgause was struggling to understand why. No-one had spoken anything beyond the truth. ‘You recognise that everything we have done today is against the laws set by your own husband. This place itself is unlawful.’

Morgause understood few of the words being used, but she felt her own temper rising with the increasingly unhappy look on the blonde woman’s face. She had a wave of protectiveness sweep through her tiny body, pushing her forwards. She instead chose to cling to the column, holding herself back. The women had not yet halted in their quarrel.

‘I do not do anything beyond the law.’

‘The Old Religion? Sorcery?’

‘I do not ask for sorcery.’

‘Ygraine…’ The woman began but suddenly hunched over, groaning, both hands on her stomach. The blonde woman dropped to her side, arms around her. Morgause found herself emerging from behind the column, too focused now on the dark lady to realise she was in full view of all three women. It was Zakiya only however who noticed her. She clicked her fingers, eyebrow arched.

‘Get a chair, Morgause, if you insist on lurking.’

She nodded, running, stumbling over her own unsteady feet to pull forward a chair. The woman sank into it shaking, but her face no longer contorted in pain. Morgause could make out more features now; thick eyebrows, wide dark eyes only mere shades lighter than her raven hair, tied behind her head.

‘You should be careful, Lady Vivienne, your child feeds off you. You must ensure you yourself have the strength to endure it.’

‘My child is simply growing; it does not feed from me.’ Vivienne sat back in the chair, breathing deeply. ‘Do not let me disturb you, whatever you came here to do, Ygraine.’

The blonde woman glanced at her nervously, as if such an invitation hid a truer meaning that she could not see, but the High Priestess beside her merely nodded.

‘Very well, my Lady. You know what you need more than I. Come, Ygraine, the Sisters await.’ She took Ygraine firmly by the arm, not so much guiding as directing her from her companion. As the other woman left the hall, Zakiya turned back with a sly smile. ‘You are welcome to join us, Vivienne.’

‘I will not be witness to sorcery.’

‘Prayer?’

‘I know what your prayers entail.’

‘Very well.’ Her smile deepened. ‘Allow Morgause to keep you company.’

The door slammed behind her, the closing draft extinguishing the nearest candles, leaving Vivienne sat in a hall patched with shadow. It was, she admitted, a beautiful hall. Windows stretched from almost foundations to ceiling, light piercing the room through stained glass, creating pools of rose and amber on the stone floor. Columns reached skywards, decorated not with the plain markings of her husband’s halls, but with delicate carvings of legend and fable. She stood, approaching one to inspect, when something shifted in the shadow, halting her in surprise.

‘You did not want to go with Zakiya?’

The child emerged from the shadow slowly, staring at Vivienne in wide eyed curiosity. She’d quite forgotten the child from earlier. If she was less fair, she had assumed her to be a servant of some sort, one of those whom Vivienne had long become accustomed to ignoring. But now she spoke and looked at her plainly, Vivienne bristled.

‘I know who Zakiya is, and what she does.’ The girl frowned as she spoke and Vivienne felt a pang of guilt at her tone. ‘Who are you? What’s your name?’

The child frowned again, her small face sinking into a pout. ‘You do not care.’

Vivienne felt the words with a sharper pain than she had expected such a small child to be capable of dealing. She hurt. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I watched you with the other woman. You were angry. You dislike Zakiya. You wouldn’t care for me.’ Her young mouth stumbled over some of the words, but Vivienne recognised her sentiment. She tried to smile

‘I am Lady Vivienne.’ She extended her hand, expecting the usual kiss to accompany, but the girl ignored it. She took her hand back, red with the dual embarrassment of such disregard, and the shame of feeling such rejection so acutely.

‘I am Morgause.’

‘Where’s your mother, Morgause?’

She tilted her head, as if confused by the question. ‘I do not have one.’

‘Your father?

‘I do not have one.’

‘You have no family.’ Her hand rested unconsciously on her stomach, protective.

Morgause shook her head. ‘I have my sisters.’

‘Where are they?’

‘Here. On the Isle. All women here are my sisters.’

‘That is not how family works, child.’

She was ignored once more as Morgause sat down at Vivienne’s feet, eyes wide. ‘Are you having a baby?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled, but the child’s face remained still.

‘A boy or a girl?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You should have a girl.’

‘The baby’s father wants a boy.’

‘You can’t always get what you want.’ Morgause shrugged, an odd movement from her narrow shoulders. ‘That’s what I am told.’

‘It’s true.’

‘Will you love your baby less if you have a girl?’

‘No.’ She felt herself wrapping her arms around her as Morgause spoke. She found her dark stare unnerving, and then felt heavy guilt settle in her stomach at her reaction to the questioning of a child. ‘I will love my baby no matter what. I am its mother, and that is a mother’s job.’

Morgause stood, staring silently, before nodding, her blonde hair bouncing with the movement. ‘I hope you have a baby girl. I don’t think your husband should get to choose your baby.’

* * *

 

Zakiya opened the heavy hall door slowly, attempting to disturb the scene as little as she was possible of doing. She wanted to watch mother and daughter unawares. She had known of Morgause’s parentage, at least her maternally, since her birth. She had not been able to resist the search for Gaius’ mysterious woman. She had read fortunes and consulted runes and stared in crystals for weeks before finding simple bribery of local physicians had worked much more effectively. The answer had not surprised her. She knew of Gorlois’ reputation, his temper and blind rages. His cruelty to those unlike him. She judged not the decision of a young wife and unwilling mother. That did not prevent her curiosity now.

It was the sight that she had been somewhat anticipating. Vivienne had stood and was circling a pillar, peering at the carvings carefully, running her fingers over the ridges with absent gaze. She was alone. Morgause sat back with her book, though her head and slumped and her eyes were closed. The High Priestess smiled.

Vivienne turned at the feel of someone at her elbow. ‘You startled me.’

‘My apologies, my Lady.’ Zakiya bowed slightly. ‘Our prayers are completed. Your companion is ready to leave.’

‘Of course.’ The two women departed together, Vivienne casting a final glance back at the sleeping child alone. ‘The girl, Morgause, who is she?’

‘No-one. A child left here many years ago.’

‘You do not admit children.’

‘We took her as a favour. A favour for an old friend of mine, in fact.’

‘And her mother has never been in contact?’

‘No.’ Zakiya cast a glance sideways at Vivienne, but her eyes were focused ahead, the child already from her mind. ‘I do not think her mother ever really will.’

* * *

 

Morgause was sat up in bed, awaiting her nightly prayers. She looked up in surprise when the High Priestess entered the room, wrinkled hand clutching a small satin bag. She lay her staff on the bed as she sat down, bones creaking more than she felt comfortable admitting. With a smile, she reached to tuck a curl of gold behind the child’s ear.

‘I didn’t expect you to be awake still, Morgause.’

‘I haven’t yet said my prayers.’ An eagerly curious glance at the bag accompanied her words. ‘What’s that?’

She placed it on top of the blanket, pushing it forwards. ‘It’s yours, Morgause. It’s something I should have given to you long ago. It’s a gift from the Lady Vivienne.’

With clumsy, fumbling fingers, she undid the knotted top to reveal a silver bracelet. Decorated intricately, completed with a gold band, it was worth easily far more than anything Morgause had ever been given permission to so much as hold. Her mouth hung open, at an age yet unable to prevent such reflections of her feelings on her face.

‘This is mine?’

‘From the Lady Vivienne, yes.’

‘Who is she?’ Morgause had placed the bracelet on her wrist, the metal dwarfing her narrow bones. Zakiya smiled.

‘One of the women who visited us today.’

‘I didn’t know who they were.’

‘You have seen Ygraine before, child.’

‘With the yellow hair?’

‘Blonde hair.’ She stroked Morgause’s head softly. ‘Yes.’

‘Who is she?’

‘Ygraine is the queen of Camelot, one of the Five Kingdoms. Her husband is King Uther Pendragon.’ The words meant nothing to Morgause, she was too young yet to have learnt to hate. ‘The other woman was the Lady Vivienne. Her husband is Lord Gorlois, a soldier in the army. He owns a lot of land.’

She was too young to be impressed with such flimsy credentials, instead too interested in examining her bracelet, its physical presence worth more to her than the notion of land. She twisted it on her wrist. ‘But she gave me this?’

‘Yes.’ Zakiya stood, leaning over to smooth the child’s hair, and pull the blanket around her.

‘Why?’

‘Because she is your mother.’

Morgause remembered the cold stare that had passed over her from the dark woman. She looked up at Zakiya with wide eyes, her voice still. ‘I have no mother.’

Still, when the high Priestess peered in on her that night, Morgause lay asleep, clutching her bracelet to her chest.


	3. The Isle of the Blessed: Chapter 2

** The Isle of the Blessed **

** Chapter 2 **

_Dusk had fallen quickly. In the sky, colour deepening by the second, a crescent moon hung, lonely in the empty night.  The lake below was visible only with the breaking of its surface as a single rowing boat reached its shore. Two women climbed out. The first glanced up at the ruins that still inhabited the isle, long after all living beings had departed, and she shivered. The other did not look up, could not look up, her strength absorbed merely being stood. A hand was placed on her arm, another curling around her, and she was guided by her companion, whose eyes still darted with unease, not willing to trust the shadows that surrounded them._

_‘Sister.’ The older woman’s voice was a mere whisper, weak from pain and disuse. Her lips barely moved, the muscles agonisingly rigid._

_The other woman turned to her, aware of the attention she had been neglecting to pay. She squeezed her hand gently, the motion meaning more than the sensation, her sister having lost all such feeling weeks before. ‘I apologise, sister, this place is new to me.’_

_‘It is hardly as I knew.’ They passed under the remnants of what once had been an ornate stone arch, the markings now unclear, lost to age and destruction. ‘We are here.’_

_It had once been a hall, the dark woman could tell. Columns still stood in partial form, some had fallen, some torn down, some merely eroded away. She could imagine the ceiling they had once supported, the people who must have once gathered underneath. Now the stone floor was cracked, patches of grass growing through, and above there was only the endless sky. What distracted most of all was the centre of the hall, where a proud altar remained, stood proudly._

_She helped her sister to its side, before stepping back as she pulled back her hood and lay down, winching visibly in the spotlight of the moon. Even in such dim light, the spider web of scarring that spun down her cheek was clear. Still, she gave a weak smile._

_‘I am ready, sister.’ With her able hand, she reached into the pocket of her cloak, pulling out a long knife, blade glittering. The other woman took it with shaking fingers._

_‘I cannot do this.’ She shook her head, the beginnings of tears forming in her eyes._

_‘You must.’_

_‘I am not strong enough.’_

_‘This is the only way.’ The blonde woman turned her head towards her sister as she raised the knife high. ‘You know what must be done.’_

_She was shaking, tears now falling freely down her cheeks as she continued to hold the blade above her head. ‘I can’t. I can’t.’_

_From the altar, Morgause looked up with wide, dark eyes. ‘Please, Morgana. Please.’_

_She felt a piercing pain as the brunette brought down the knife with a pained scream. The blonde closed her eyes as the pain continued, an agonising ache that stretched across her stomach, around her back, and creeping into her thighs._

* * *

 

The pain forced her to open her eyes, the room still dark. Morgause sat up gingerly, barely able to move in pain. She scrambled quickly when she saw the blood staining her bed, dark in the moonlight. She placed a hand between her legs, pulling her fingers away bloody and sticky. She attempted to stand, but found her legs unsteady, her head unclear with pain, and she slumped to the stone floor beside her bed, sobbing.

Zakiya had one of her sisters, a novice, pick the girl from the floor and settle her in bed gently. She was no longer crying, but she was hunched, curled into a ball, hands clutching her stomach with a grimace.  She dismissed the novice with a nod before sitting carefully on the bed. She sat in silence, until Morgause turned over, staring at the High Priestess with eyes full of fear.

‘Am I dying?’ Just the words seemed to summon tears back to her eyes, her lip beginning to tremble once more. ‘I have blood.’

‘You’re not dying, Morgause.’ Zakiya reached forwards, smoothing the child’s golden hair, the usual curls knotting under the constant tossing. ‘You’re enduring simply what all women must. The blood is simply the end of your childhood, nothing to fear.’

‘All women?’

‘Bar a few, yes.’ Zakiya smiled softly. ‘This is your body’s way of telling you that you are ready to have a child. You will experience this once a month now, until your body is too old.’

‘This pain? Every month?’ She groaned. ‘But, I am not ready to have a baby. I am only eleven. No-one can have a baby at eleven.’

‘Yes, this pain every month. But it will be this bad for only a few hours, Morgause, then it will settle.’ She moved her hand down to stroke the girl’s cheek with light fingers. ‘You will also experience other pains. You may be sick, you may suffer a fever. You may become cold, or angry, or sad, or all of these.  I am afraid you will suffer more than most, my child, all Priestesses do.  Our bodies torment us further for our refusal to give them children. I cannot rid you of all pain, but I can do something to help.’ Zakiya took hold of Morgause’s wrist, cuffed still with her mother’s parting gift. With a golden flash in the High Priestess’s eyes, and a brief burning sensation as the metal heated and cooled against her wrist, Morgause felt an easing in her stomach, the pain dulled. She sat up cautiously, looking curiously at the band. ‘I have enchanted your bracelet. It will now help soothe pain, whatever it may be. It cannot take your pain entirely, but you should find it a help.’

Morgause nodded, biting her lip nervously. Even in the limited light, Zakiya could tell she was pale, all colour taken from her cheeks. ‘You must sleep now, child.’

‘This isn’t fair,’ she grumbled as she lay down. ‘I am a child. I can’t have a baby. Why do I have to experience this?’

‘You should feel grateful, my girl. If you lived in the Five Kingdoms, this would be the sign that you are ready to wed.’

‘I would be married?’

‘You could be. There are many your age that are.’

‘Why don’t you do that here?’ She had sat up again, but this time her eyes were bright with interest. Zakiya sat down again, her bones too old to stand for such a discussion. Morgause cocked her head. ‘Why don’t you want to send people away to get married? We are still in the Five Kingdoms, after all.’

‘We do not get married.’

‘Why not?’

Zakiya chuckled, the child’s curiosity still amusing to her after such years. ‘We do not believe in marriage.’

‘Why not?’

‘We believe that love is, and should be, a choice. That when you love someone, all that should keep you together is the choice and desire to be so. Love should never be restricted, be tied, by bonds of law or money. And that is al marriage is. A law that binds two people together for far longer and far tighter than many find comfort in. we also believe that people should have the choice to leave, when their love is extinguished.’

Morgause was silent as the High Priestess stood again. She had reached the door by the time the girl spoke again. ‘Have you been in love?’

‘Yes.’

‘What happened?’

‘I stopped being in love. Then I came here instead.’

‘Will I be in love?’

The High Priestess smiled gently. ‘Yes. We all love. You will be in love more times than you will want, with more strength than you will feel safe to feel. But you will never wish for anything else.’

* * *

 

Winds howled beyond the convent’s walls, banshee wails that whipped down corridors, causing all inhabitants to pull their cloaks closer around them and huddle before fires, lit in hearths for the first time that Autumn. Against glass windows, raindrops thundered, hundreds a minute, not unreminiscent of the drumming of soldiers’ boots on the march. The younger novices glanced nervously outside at every clap of thunder, and jumped at every lightning flash, jagged in the dark sky. It was a storm unlike those seen in most lifetimes, a storm unlike those seen again. A storm almost beyond the capabilities of Nature, who violent tendencies were usually reserved for those at the ends of the earth, the Five Kingdoms insignificant enough to ignore. A sudden boom of thunder caused a small number of novices to scream. And then the hall doors burst open.

‘Now, who’s screaming?’

A woman stood silhouetted in the doorway. She wore no cloak, despite the weather, and yet she was clearly untouched by Nature’s forces. She strode into the hall, casting long glances as she walked. She was tall and dark, hair like jet onyx falling in loose ringlets down her back. She would have been beautiful, high cheekbones and full lips, if not for the cruel pride etched onto her face, her eyes glittering coldly.

‘Nimueh, you have returned.’ Zakiya stepped forwards from amongst the gathering of Priestesses, to be met with a cackle from the other woman.

‘Zakiya? You have been left in charge? Or not possibly chosen, surely?’ With a slender finger, she wiped a tear from her eye, an exaggerated gesture that earned her a scowl from her opponent. ‘Need I ask how you secured such a position? Or should I resort to assumption?’

‘You aren’t welcome here.’

‘I thought you took in all?’

‘You have had your chance.’

‘Nimueh?’ The newcomer turned as a figure stood from a chair in the corner and hobbled feebly forwards. She had lost all of her hair, her face was gaunt beyond measure, and she peered at her with large jagged stones, but Nimueh smiled broadly as she came into view.

‘Lachesis.’ She held out her hands for the elder to take, clutching them with a strength she appeared too old to possess. ‘I have returned, Lachesis.’

Her smile however was met with a deep frown as Lachesis continued to hold her hands in her own. After a moment, she moved her hand to the younger Priestess’ face, running fingers gnarled as bark over unblemished skin. She grinned broadly, revealing large toothless gaps. ‘And when did you stop ageing, child? Why your face and your palms feel smooth, when I should be able to count the years. Feel their stories. Why deny me such adventures?’

‘I will tell you, Lachesis. I will tell you all.’  Her tears earlier, bitter and mocking, had been replaced with sweet joy, as Lachesis pulled the woman close to her, holding her as tightly as any mother.

‘Lachesis,’ Zakiya interrupted hesitantly, the elder turning to her with a scowl. ‘She can’t stay. Not now. Not with everything that has been done.’

‘She stays,’ Lachesis snapped, taking hold of Nimueh’s arm firmly. ‘My child stays.’

‘Lachesis…’

‘My word is final.’

Zakiya was silent as she watched Nimueh let the elder lead her from the hall, a warm smile on her face. The High Priestess didn’t miss, however, the smirk on her face as she turned back, such malice visible even in the dim light of a lightning flash.

* * *

 

‘I never knew Lachesis had a child.’

Zakiya glanced up from her desk, littered with torn yellowing pages and empty ink wells, at the blonde woman perched on her stone windowsill. ‘She doesn’t.’

‘Nimueh.’

‘Nimueh is no more Lachesis’ child than you are mine.’ The blonde woman slipped off the sill with more force than grace, and began circling the room idly, as Zakiya returned to her study. Morgause ran a finger along the spines of the aged books that lined the chamber walls, pulling one out occasionally only to push back, slamming it against the wooden shelving. The High Priestess looked up once more. ‘What do you want, Morgause?’

‘I want you to tell me about her.’

‘Ask Lachesis.’

She frowned. ‘Lachesis scares me.’

‘You’re seventeen years old, child, no-one should scare you now.’

‘Even Uther Pendragon?’ She asked, mischievous glint in her dark eyes. ‘I’ve heard you pray against him.’

She shook her head with a sigh, designed to conceal her amusement. ‘I’ll rephrase. Scared of no-one who cannot walk up stone steps.’

‘Tell me about Nimueh.’ She sat down opposite her with childlike eagerness. In these moments, she was almost indistinguishable from her child self, wide eyed, an excited blush spread across her cheeks, hands clutching the desk in seeming anticipation. But then, that was to ignore the woman she had almost become. Her golden hair, untameable as a child, had settled and now cascaded down her back on the rare occasion she wore it loose. She’d been a solid child, one clearly given purpose from early in her life, but she’d grown into a lean figure, although she hadn’t quite rid herself of a childish sense of practicality, shunning the delicate gowns demanded of her sex in favour of breezy shirts and breeches.

Looking at her, Zakiya nearly gave in, but instead forced herself to shake her head solemnly. ‘No. You do not need to know.’

Morgause sat back angrily, folding her arms. ‘I live here also. I deserve to know about the women I live with.’

If she expected adolescent rage to win the High Priestess, she was sorely disappointed, as she looked up only to meet the steely glare of her elder, jaw clenched as if restraining a thousand words from escaping her tongue. ‘You do live here, Morgause, under my care. And, in my judgement, you need know nothing about Nimueh. In fact, it is of my opinion that the less you know, the safer you are. But, if you insist, I will tell you one piece of information. Nimueh is no High Priestess. Nimueh is a Witch, and I want you staying as far from her as possible.’

‘A Witch?’

‘I want a promise, child, that you will not seek her out, or allow her any audience with you. Can you do this?’

‘Nimueh is a Witch?’ Morgause had, of course, read of such women. She’d been told stories since childhood of the women who rejected the sisterhood, using sorcery to haunt the shadows of society. They were always vanquished ultimately by some shining knight, or some unassuming hero, as if such courage could be so unknown. But, for such a woman to exist, a Witch in the convent, she felt something piqued within her chest. The feeling must have reflected on her face, for Zakiya snapped her fingers directly before her eyes, causing her to recoil in shock. ‘Yes, whatever you say, I agree. Are you satisfied?’

‘Thank you, Morgause.’

It did not occur to the aged Priestess until Morgause was long from the room that she had sworn no clear oath, made no solemn promise, and she frowned deeply.

* * *

 

Her knees were aching. Stone floors, Morgause reflected, were unnecessarily uncomfortable. Despite all efforts that must have once been made to level all flagstones, the years had somehow lowered some, and chipped others away in just such a way as to make them unsuitable for hour long espionage experiences. She was unable to move her left knee, it resting in a dip in the floor, a space worn away as if stood on for years by a one-footed ancestor of the sisterhood.  At any other time, such a notion would have amused her to the point of distraction, but her attention was too far focused for such trivialities. She had her eye pressed to the keyhole, straining to catch sight of the women inside, lit only by candlelight. Their voices carried however, frustration seeping into their whispers.

‘She cannot stay here. She doesn’t belong, not with our Sisters.’

‘You are High Priestess. You are no god.’

‘But you see, don’t you? You have seen what she has done? What she has driven Uther to do?’

‘She has no power over the minds of men. What they do is their choice for them alone to face judgement over.’

The voices were those of Zakiya and Lachesis. She could make out the dark figure of Zakiya, gesticulating wildly as she spoke. She could see also her hunched opponent, back to the door, mocking in her aged voice.

‘Nothing will be solved in this way, Zakiya.’ An unknown speaker, no doubt one of the senior Priestesses. ‘Few of us know Nimueh. Fewer of us have met her, spent time with her. We cannot judge unless we know more. What has she done?’

‘They do not know. She has done nothing so wrong then.’

‘They do not know because we have kept it from them,’ the High Priestess snapped. ‘Show them. Show them all she has done.’

The keyhole obscured much of what could be seen, but Morgause watched as Lachesis seemed to bend over, as if reaching for something on her head. As she straightened, smoke began to fill the hall. It circled upwards to form a mirror, reflecting in shadow the women gathered below. Light suddenly flashed across the smoke, and an image became clear.

A young woman sat in sunlight, hunched over a leather bound text. An unheard sound caused her to glance up. High cheekbones and full lips, clear even in the smoke. But her eyes were soft, pride not yet etched into her face. The smoke blurred only for it to clear on a different scene. She was shouting inaudibly, screaming, at a dark woman, face unclear. Nimueh suddenly recoiled, a red handprint bright upon her cheek. The slap had been too quick to see, but Morgause recognised now the image of the person responsible.

‘Zakiya.’

Again, the scene changed, smoke spinning to form now a man sat in a dark room. He was young in face, but grey hair grew already at his temples, and his eyes were heavy. He glanced up as the door opened, a woman shown in, flanked by crimson clad guards. She was older, and she held her head higher, closer now to the uninvited guest of the Convent. The pair exchanged silent conversation, before the door opened once more, and a woman entered. A woman whose pale face caused a very faint memory to swim before Morgause’s eyes.

‘Ygraine?’ She fell back in her sudden confusion, moving away from the door, only to land at the feet of one stood behind her, long skirts brushing the floor.

‘You should know better than to eavesdrop so openly.’ She was looking at the upside down face of the same woman whose life she had just been watching through the keyhole. Her lips curled as Morgause reddened. ‘Is this a habit of yours, or have I caught you on a rare outing?’

Despite her mocking tone, she still offered a hand to the younger woman and pulled her to her feet. The blurred image in the smoke had not done Nimueh justice, Morgause recognised as she met her curious gaze. Under such stare, she blushed harder, her cheeks almost burning. Nimueh however did not shift her gaze, despite the impact her attention was clearly having.

‘You are Zakiya’s ward, are you not? Morgause?’ She asked eventually.

‘I am Morgause. I am no ward.’

‘She cares for you as a mother for a child. You are a ward as any.’

‘As you are the ward of Lachesis?’

Nimueh laughed, revealing small white pearls of teeth. ‘Zakiya has been talking, I see.’

The other woman however bristled and shot an angry glance at the locked door. ‘She has spoken very little, you are lucky.’

Nimueh cocked her head, eyes glittering. ‘And you are resentful?’

‘No.’

‘You need not lie to me. I shall hardly tell Zakiya of what we speak. Besides…’ She stroked Morgause’s cheek with a long finger, enjoying the shiver she felt from the girl. ‘Zakiya worries for you. She keeps from you only what she fears.’

‘She fears you?’

‘She always has.’ Nimueh took her hand back suddenly. ‘Come and see me tomorrow, Morgause, if you wish to have all of your questions answered. I can reveal all to you that Zakiya has hidden. You need not if you do not wish but…’

‘No, I shall be there.’

Her eyes were bright, a naïve joy Nimueh had seen so rarely in recent years. It warmed her own heart slightly. She could not resist leaning forward, placing a parting kiss against the other woman’s cheek.

‘You are beautiful, Morgause,’ she murmured against her, lips still brushing her skin. ‘Wear loose your hair tomorrow. You shall look more so.’

Morgause felt Nimueh’s warmth against her cheek still that night as she lay, restlessly awake. At the thought of the Priestess’ eyes on her once more, lips slightly parted, she felt her heart pound, her stomach twist, her throat tighten, and her hand lift her nightdress to her hips and begin to stroke her sensitive skin as she gasped.


	4. The Isle of the Blessed: Chapter 3

**The Isle of the Blessed**

**Chapter 3**

‘I will say I was surprised by the invitation, Zakiya.’

‘You were summoned, not invited.’

‘The two are separated only by attitude. A summons is an invitation if you smile when it is received.’ Nimueh picked a small emerald from one of the shelves, turning it to inspect it closer, rolling its cold surface in her fingers. At Zakiya’s withering stare, she placed it back with a curve of her lips. ‘Need I ask what this meeting was called for? Or may I place my best guess?’

‘We have enough history to make your best guess worth nothing. But you’re welcome to try.’

‘The girl, Morgause.’

‘So you do know.’ Zakiya frowned, leaning back with folded arms. ‘Then you will have no excuse for your blatant observation of her.’

‘My blatant observation? ‘ Nimueh took the seat opposite her with a small smirk. ‘She is fascinating, what do you expect of me?’

‘Foolishly, I expect decency.’

‘Decency?’ She asked mockingly, dramatically, her hand on her chest in faux outrage. ‘How little you think of me.’

‘I know you.’

‘You knew me,’ she corrected with a shrug. ‘Perhaps I am changed. Perhaps you have been long mistaken.’

‘I will not be drawn into whatever this is,’ Zakiya snapped. ‘Morgause is not for you. Leave her alone.’

Nimueh sighed, reaching across the table for a small cup and jug. Zakiya watched her resentfully but made no efforts to stop her pouring deep red wine into the cup and taking a long sip. ‘You play the game poorly, Zakiya, you always have. It is one of the reasons your current position surprises me.’

‘Some things are no game.’

‘Only a poor player insists the game does not exist, as if doing so will keep their pieces on the board.’

‘It is such thinking that shows me you are unchanged.’ She leaned forwards suddenly, hands clutching the table with such force her knuckles paled. ‘Morgause is not a game for you to trial until you bore. She has a destiny that requires no input from a woman such as yourself.’

‘You think I don’t know her destiny?’ Nimueh asked incredulously, her voice laced with anger. ‘You see me as so ignorant as to have no knowledge of this? Lachesis was my mentor. I am a seer of the highest order. I know the girl’s destiny.’

‘Yet you would interfere?’

‘Because such a future can be reached only with your guidance?’

‘You think you are needed?’

‘Have you told her yet of the future she is destined for?’

A pause. ‘No.’

‘Have you taught her yet the words of incantation and enchantment?’

‘We have begun to.’

‘Morgause’s future asks from her more than the beginnings of sorcery.’ Nimueh stood, pushing her chair back with violent force. ‘You make no preparations for the girl, Zakiya. You fear for her too greatly. You fear for the loss of her. You fear for your own heart in her absence. You fear she will fail.’

‘She will not succeed with you. And you shall not succeed with her.’

Nimueh smiled, a cruel curve to her lips. ‘I succeed already, Zakiya. You are already too late.’

* * *

 

She knocked lightly, knuckles barely brushing the wood, but that was enough to cause her heart to race. Such a feeling must have a name, should have a name, Morgause felt, to cause her such pleasant discomfort. She both feared and hoped for the opening of the door, she had spent the day imagining the evening. Such thoughts now caused her to blush, and she bowed her head in fear of the door opening to catch her in such state.

She was lucky. She was greeted as she cooled, Nimueh smiling from the doorway, leaning gently against its wooden frame.

‘I am glad to see you, Morgause. Whilst I felt sure not, I feared still faint heart might have prevented you.’ She moved aside to allow the other woman to enter her chambers. ‘You must forgive me. I was too unsure to dress too completely.’

She exaggerated, still clad in a long gown, perhaps more covering than any Morgause had seen her in. Yet she was without jewellery and her hair hung without style down her back. Her full lips were still crimson.

‘You look wonderful still.’ Morgause stammered, such simple words catching awkwardly on her tongue.

Nimueh however shook her head. ‘You are sweet, nut entirely incorrect.’ She noted Morgause’s slender hands fiddling with her hair, curled loosely, with a satisfied smile. With her own hands, she took Morgause’s and held them still. ‘You do look even more beautiful like this, I was correct. But you must stop fussing. Sit with me instead.’

She led her not to the table as Morgause expected, but the roaring fire in the grate, sitting cross-legged on the rug before it. As Morgause remained stood, she raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘Would you rather a chair?’ The tartness of her tone forced Morgause to her knees, but her efforts were met with a smile. ‘It’s unorthodox, I recognise, but it’s a habit I established on my travels. There are cultures in which all food and drink is taken whilst sat like this. It makes for a much more conducive atmosphere for conversation. And, of course, removes all silly pretentions from those who insist on sitting higher than their guests. Wine?’

While she had been speaking, she had been pouring two glasses of liquid so red it was almost purple. She now extended one to Morgause, who took it cautiously, and held it in hand, not letting glass meet lip.

Nimueh noticed her behaviour with a frown. ‘You have had wine before? And speak up, girl; you were not invited so I could engage in conversation with myself. I rather too commonly find myself doing that and, I must be honest, I am beginning to bore myself.’

She chose not to answer the question, instead lifting the glass and taking a long sip. It was strong, the strength overpowering any notion of flavour on her tongue. She found it pleasantly warming as it reached her throat, however, and she took a second drink.

‘You have travelled? Where?’ She asked eventually, winning an approving smile from the other woman.

‘Far. Very far. I have seen all lands in the Five Kingdoms, and those beyond. I have travelled seas, and seen endless plains of sand. I have travelled far.’

‘How long were you travelling?’

‘Years and years,’ she answered, with a mischievous glint. ‘I apologise, these answers are hardly as exact as one would wish, are they? I travelled for eleven years.’

‘Why so long? Did you find nowhere to be happy?’

‘I found many places I could be happy in.’ She shrugged. ‘But happiness only lasts as long as curiosity is at bay. And curiosity is sadly a sin I can rarely resist indulging.’

‘Curiosity isn’t a sin.’

‘Then you have not indulged enough.’ She teased, yet her words hit their mark, she could see, as Morgause’s eyes widened. ‘How much of the World have you seen?’

‘Very little. Nothing beyond the Isle,’ she admitted sheepishly. ‘It isn’t something Zakiya discusses.’

‘Would you wish to?’

‘To leave?’

‘To see beyond the stone walls you’ve seen since childhood. To explore the places you read about,’ she said. ‘Do you have not one desire to see these Kingdoms? One story you are curious about, desperate to discover if it’s true?’

‘Of course.’ The girl bristled, her pride wounded with such questioning, critiquing her far beyond that which this woman knew of her. ‘The Knights of Medhir, I wish to find. To discover their castle. To be the enchantress destined to awake them. To be the one to ignite them, if only to have so much power.’ She paused, as if suddenly aware of all she had said. Her wine was emptier than she had realised. ‘What I desire matters not, anyway. Priestesses do not leave.’

‘I left. And returned.’ Nimueh arched an eyebrow, pouring wine into the remnants of Morgause’s glass. ‘Besides which, your desires matter, Morgause. Our desires say more about our hearts than all else. All you desire is who you are. Never quash them.’

‘Desire should not rule reason.’

‘Desire is reason. Desire is hope. Desire is the fundamental and unchangeable truth of a person. You desires are ignored as Zakiya fears them. Fears that you desire more than this Isle. Fear that you view yourself as more than she wishes you to be.’

‘I want to matter.’ The words left her mouth long before her brain had quite comprehended them. Still, they were whispered.

She had expected laughter, yet Nimueh’s face remained still, the softening of her eyes perhaps the only sign she had heard the other woman. Morgause felt her face begin to redden in the silence. Her head was light, a sip away from spinning. ‘I’m sorry. I must go.’ She forced herself to shaking feet, unsteady in both drink and shame. She had stumbled as far as the door  before she felt a restraining hand on her wrist.

She turned to meet Nimueh’s dark gaze, gentler with concern. ‘Why must you go?’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…’

‘You matter, Morgause. All of you. Your thoughts, your feelings, your being. Your desires.’ Her grip on the girl’s wrist softened, her free hand reaching to stroke her face, fingers lightly brushing her cheek which burned underneath her touch. ‘What do you desire, Morgause?’

‘Sorcery. Importance. Experience.’

‘Anything else?’

Morgause felt her wrist lighten as Nimueh’s hand moved instead to her waist. Dark eyes gazed at full lips. Beneath her cage of ribs, her heart fluttered manically, as a bird behind golden bars. The very fibres of her being seemed to push her forwards, hands finding Nimueh’s body as much in need to hold something as her head spun, deliciously delirious, as in desperate need. And her lips found Nimueh’s own, stained dark with wine, its lingering taste still on her tongue. And she kissed her. And kissed her. And kissed her.

* * *

 

Zakiya woke early, disturbed by a dream that faded into the irrational and unknown upon waking. She moved slowly in the morning, muscles weak with disuse during the long hours of the night. She did not know when she had become so old.

The High Priestess padded into her study, pausing for breath at her desk. She straightened immediately when she saw it. Polished onyx and pristine marble scattered with pieces of heavy jade. She picked one piece, a rook, and held it with jaw clenched, before hurtling it with a curse, relishing the loud crack as it smashed against stone wall.

She picked another piece from the chess board with shaking fingers. The Queen. A Queen with long loose curls and wide eyes.


	5. The Isle of the Blessed: Chapter 4

**The Isle of the Blessed**

**Chapter 5**

‘You told me you would avoid her.’

Windows sang in low alto notes, vibrating with sheer volume. Any creatures that lived behind the ancient stones of the walls scuttled back into their holes, their bright eyes as they peered from darkness all they dared to show against the raging tempest of the High Priestess and her ward.

‘I said nothing.’

‘You promised. You recognise the price of a promise broken, girl?’

‘I’ve broken no promise.’ Morgause’s tongue was no match for the High Priestess, lacking the control of the older woman, and her voice shook with the oncoming threat of tears.

‘You lie. How can you lie to me?’

‘You’re wrong.’ She gritted her teeth, clenching her jaw to hold frustrated sobs in her throat. ‘What do you know, anyhow? How? Have you nothing better to do than to spy on my life?’

She had meant to sound cutting, an equal in a battle of wit and words, but came off no more than a wounded babe, weakened further by the mocking laughter she was met with. ‘Because you’ve been subtle, child? Even if this were not my convent, not my Priestesses who walk its corridors, you have all the subtlety of the naïve girl you have proven yourself to be.’

This was not the first of such arguments, nor the last to be had since the evening Morgause dreamt of nightly in great heat. She replayed each second in motion slower, feeling all of Nimueh’s skin against hers, the exact pressure of her lips, the texture of each fingertip. The reminder was enough for her to numb the pain of the lack of attention she had received from Nimueh since.

Zakiya’s lips curled into a vicious smirk at the flash of hurt across the young girl’s face. ‘You believe she cares for you, child? Nimueh cares for power, and power alone. She will use any foolish affection you hold for her to get access to me.’ A compassionate wave across her face forced the smile from her lips, her dark eyes softening. ‘I do not speak to hurt you. I ask simply for you to avoid the Witch for my sake, and for your love of me, as much as for you.’

Such a plea, however, was to be ignored. ‘You do not know her. You never have.’

‘I need not know her to understand her.’

‘You understand nothing and no-one.’ Morgause snapped, white hot tears beginning to slip down her cheeks. Zakiya took a step closer at the sight, her maternal urge to comfort victorious against any anger that coursed still through her veins. Morgause however moved away with an outraged frown. ‘I don’t want you near. You do not care for me.’

She could not compose herself quick enough to prevent a flash of hurt. ‘Morgause…’

‘Someone who cared for me would not be so critical.’

‘I’m looking after you.’

‘You’re jealous, that is all you are. Jealous that Nimueh has power you do not. You know that she should be High Priestess here, rather than you. Jealous of more, perhaps. Jealous of her affection for me, rather than you. You want to be with her, putting your hands on her, your tongue in her cunt…’

Zakiya slapped her. The sound echoed, hitting the stone walls with almost the same force as her palm across Morgause’s cheek. She watched in horror as the girl fell, as her own hand reached up to feel her hot, stinging face. Her wide eyes were full of furious betrayal when she met those of the High Priestess. There was a second, a breath of time, when with an apology made in anxious haste; such pain would be buried, if not forgotten. With a begging voice and pleading eyes, the women could have been united in regretful sobs on the floor. But the moment passed, and Zakiya instead stormed from the room, leaving her ward on the floor, the bubbling of conflicted hatred in her stomach.

* * *

 

Nimueh reached a long finger to her face, running it gently across the lines formed under her eyes. With the other hand, she pulled at her cheek, watching the results in the mirror with a sigh. She gave up quickly, accepting unwillingly the first signs of ageing across her unnaturally young face, signs no longer possible to change. She darted her gaze across the rest of her reflection however with a satisfied smile. She had yet to see the thinning of her full lips, the first growths of whispery hair across her chin, the sagging of her jaw. Her reflection shuddered in the mirror as she smeared deep red across her mouth.

A short sharp knock on the door of her chambers distracted her, perhaps welcomingly, as her eyes had located a new line deepening around her lips.

‘Morgause.’ The girl was shaking almost, her eyes clearly bloodshot as she looked up at the other woman. She had a red shine to her left cheek, which her own hand touched consciously when she noticed Nimueh’s gaze. ‘Come in, Morgause.’

She was a silent guest to the chambers, a shadow, looking around with a rabbit stare. ‘I’m sorry; I didn’t know who else I could…’ She spotted the dressing table, jars and vials scattered across its surface. ‘I’ve interrupted you. I can go.’

‘Nonsense.’ She shook her head, and gestured to a chair. Without asking, she poured two glasses of liquid, amber as opposed to the crimson of before, and pushed one into Morgause’s hand. ‘Drink. You look as if you need to.’ At the girl’s blank stare, she frowned. ‘You’re shaking, Morgause. What has happened? You must have had a shock. Your cheek, as well?’

‘You could call it shock, but I shake only with rage.’ She reached up again to lightly touch her cheek, as if to remind herself of its burn beneath her fingertips. ‘This was Zakiya’s work.’

‘Zakiya?’

‘Yes.’

Nimueh felt the memory of such a sting against her own cheek. ‘What had you said?’

She was aware as the words left her mouth that they sounded far more accusatory than she had planned. Morgause however reddened, the shine of her cheek now matching the rest of her face. ‘She asked of you.’

Nimueh could have guessed, but the confirmation was enough to lift a smile from her lips. ‘Yes? And your response was enough to cause that…’ With gentle touch she reached across to run her fingers across Morgause’s cheek. ‘What did you say?’

‘Nothing.’ She had flushed again, warm to the touch. At Nimueh’s curious gaze, she relented. ‘She asked me not to see you. I told her only that she was jealous. Then this.’

She went to gesture to her cheek but the other woman caught hold of her hands. ‘You spoke true, Morgause. But Zakiya is not one to be reminded of her faults. It was for much the same reason that I was once also the recipient of such violence.’

The blurred image of Nimueh in recoil, fear in her eyes. ‘I saw you. In the Hall.’

‘When I so unfortunately interrupted your great espionage, yes.’ She paused, as if in hesitation, or the illusion of. ‘I left the convent afterwards, unwilling to be subject to such disrespect from one who would call herself my equal. Would you want to do the same?’

‘To leave?’

‘Yes.’ She tilted her head. ‘You said you have not been beyond the Isle. Do you wish to?’

She frowned at the question, yet it was a frown of thought as opposed to unhappiness at such a prospect. When she remained silent, lips to her wine, Nimueh laughed.

‘You don’t have to think it so deeply, girl. I’m not offering you a companion or forcing you out. I ask only out of my own curiosity.’ She smiled, the fingers still holding Morgause’s hand beginning to circle against her skin. ‘I still wish to know what else you told Zakiya of me. What she asked of you.’

‘It was very little.’

‘Then tell me.’

She relished the blood that rushed to the other woman’s cheeks. The nervous glance cast down. The bite of her lips.

‘She told me not to see you, that’s all.’

‘Why does she worry?’

‘She’s bitter. Alone. Jealous. Who knows?’

Her biting tone brought a smirk to Nimueh’s red mouth. ‘She worries about losing you, Morgause.’

‘She doesn’t care for me.’

‘You underestimate her. She cares for you so greatly that she ordered me away from you.’ She refilled both glasses, meeting the girl’s eyes as she did so. ‘I was worried that it was Zakiya’s words that kept you from me. After the last time I saw you, I waited to see you again, but you did not come.’ She enjoyed the nervous dilation of Morgause’s inky pupils, only for them to widen in understanding. She pursued. A squeeze of her hand. ‘That was not the reason, was it?’

‘No.’

‘Then another reason? You did not wish to see me again?’

‘No. I did, of course.’

‘How can you assure me of that when I have not seen you?’ She stood dramatically. She moved with a flourish to each of her gestures. ‘I wanted you to stay that evening. I enjoyed your company. It has been a long time since I have felt such.’

‘I did not know how to stay. Or how to approach you.’

‘But you wanted to?’

‘Yes.’ She had stood also, her chest rising and falling rapidly, visible even beneath her shirt.

‘And how, child, am I ever expected to believe such words?’ Nimueh ran long fingers down her cheek, her voice soft but mocking. She bit each word with gentle violence. ‘When you see me only to rail against another, and you do not show me that you want to see only me? How do you expect me to…?’

It was her turn to be surprised as Morgause pressed her lips to hers, silencing her with almost desperate force. If she was hesitant, it did not show, hands joining her mouth, pushing against the Priestess’ skin. She had perhaps the naivety and haste of the young, as fingers fumbled with the material at her shoulders, the ties at her back, seeking the pale below. It made a change, Nimueh reflected as she leant back against the wall, Morgause’s head at her breast, to the women before, treating her body as their husbands did theirs, unsure of where to touch, uncertain of even their desire to do so. She felt Morgause’s need radiate through her skin, and seep into her core. She pulled her up, kissing her fully once more, before tipping her head back as the other woman sank to her knees, worshipping her skin as she did so with soft presses of lips and the gentle grazing of teeth. A final kiss of the dark hair that grew curled between her legs, and then she was closing her eyes in blissful awareness of every movement of Morgause’s sorcerer tongue.

* * *

 

Zakiya had now the misfortune of watching Morgause, who she felt nothing in her heart but the burning burden of love, walk the convent arm in arm with Nimueh, who she felt nothing but the acidic venom of hatred. She caught each of Morgause’s wide eyes glances at the Priestess, clouded sometimes with the light of an admiration quite unwarranted, sometimes more stomach churningly with a dark desire that gave her eyes a deepness almost black to onlookers. She once caught the two curled up together, heads resting against each other’s, a picture of youthful infatuation until Zakiya had caught the steely glint of Nimueh’s eyes in the light, reminding her of all she was. And all she was not.

* * *

 

She was stood in her chambers, jade piece in hand, held up to catch the remainder of the sun’s beams through thick colour. Zakiya’s mouth set into a deep frown as she closed the wooden door behind her, resisting the terrible urge within her to lock the door and tear the Priestess limb from limb, sound muffled from all but her wall inhabiting spectators.

‘You should not be here, Nimueh.’

‘Isn’t the Queen a fascinating piece?’ She chose to ignore Zakiya, her only recognition of her presence simply an arched eyebrow. ‘For all its uses, for all its possible ways to move, for all its power, it can be taken so easily. And then it’s gone. Of no use any longer to anyone.’ She placed the piece back on the board, meeting Zakiya’s eyes finally. ‘Morgause turns eighteen in two days.’

‘One day, Nimueh, you will succeed in being less transparent.’ She sighed but gestured to her chairs anyway, despite clear reluctance. The other woman took a seat with a cautious glance. ‘What do you want from Morgause? From me?’

‘You do intend to begin her education when she is of age?’

‘Yes, just as the Triple Goddess demands. And her destiny requires.’

A cold smile. ‘I wish to be the one to educate her.’

‘As if you have not already started,’ she snapped, regretting such an outburst quickly as amusement shimmered on Nimueh’s face. ‘You have asked this. My answer remains the same.’

‘Perhaps you misunderstand, Zakiya, in your age. You do not hold all the pieces anymore. I hold your Queen.’

‘Morgause is not a piece to be held and played. Why must i feel our conversations repeating themselves?’

‘Because they do. And will. Until you relent.’

‘You do not want her. You cannot care for her. You care for no-one.’

‘That’s unfair, Zakiya.’ She pouted, voice obnoxiously simpering. She reached out a hand to stroke the lined hand of the High Priestess. ‘I cared for you once. Maybe I loved you.’

‘You have never loved anyone.’

Eyes flashed with sudden white anger. ‘It wasn’t me who was incapable of love.’

‘Is that all this is? Your revenge? Heal the scars of your heart by cutting into mine?’ She snatched her hand from the table. ‘You are mistaken if so.’

Her fury was met however with a cold laugh. ‘You value yourself too highly. You always have. I have all I ask for: to educate the girl.’

‘Why?’

‘Need I have a reason? Or have my reasons so far been below your expectations?’

‘Your reasons so far have been pale.’

She expected rage, or denial, from the other woman. She was met instead with dulling resignation in her eyes, and a nod of recognition. She had not seen such expression from her before. ‘Morgause must succeed in her destiny.’

‘And you are her only chance?’ She was mocking, but met with a sincere glance.

‘She will require more than you can offer her, Zakiya. You know of the deeds she is destined for. Do you believe you are the one to teach her this?’ She could see still a lack of understanding in the other woman’s face. ‘Morgause does not require a High Priestess. She requires a Witch. Magic beyond that of the Triple Goddess. She will bring down kingdoms, Zakiya, she will not do this lightly.’

‘This is not your concern.’

‘It is as much mine as yours.’

‘She is not your concern.’

‘She is more mine than yours.’

‘You wish only to be the one to teacher her. I wish for more.’

‘You know nothing of what I wish.’ Nimueh stared at her, strangely her gaze a sad combination of both confusion and hurt. It was an expression that did not quite suit her prideful eyes. ‘You do not see, Zakiya. You do not see. Morgause’s destiny is beyond that of all we know. She will be the one to bring low Uther Pendragon, the one to end the purges, the hunts. I want to see that day as much as you do.’

‘Uther is not responsible for the purges.’

‘Uther is the only person responsible. He gives the orders every day, signs the death warrants with his hand. Who else holds such power?’

‘Who gave him reason for such acts? Who planted the hatred in his heart?’ At the other woman’s damning silence, she snapped. ‘You, Nimueh, should feel more weight on your soul than he. You gave him reason to hate.’

‘Who Uther chooses to hate is beyond my control. Who any man chooses to hold in such contempt is beyond any woman’s control. You should know that above anyone.’

‘You do not get to make yourself the innocent,’ she hissed.

‘And you do not get to make me the guilty.’ Nimueh held her head high, eyes hard once more, frozen ice in her snow white face. ‘I understand it’s easier for you to believe me as the Witch, your pain a result of selfish malevolence, rather than believe a man who holds such power would wield it so cruelly. But you are wrong. I am not your enemy. It is men with power we must fear.’

She did not wait for a response, standing straight. Her face was marble, she moved as such, as if moving too fluidly would smash her façade, crumble her resolve.

‘Teach her. Teach her all she must know. But return her to me, Nimueh, return her unharmed.’

A gracious smile and she was gone.

* * *

 

‘What did you do?’ A peculiar glance in response to her question caused her cheeks to flush. ‘For Zakiya to hate you so, what did you do?’

They were sat together in bed, the covers of which lay rumpled across their legs, leaving the skin of their upper bodies exposed mercilessly to cold air, fire unlit. Morgause felt her own nipples hardening further in the chill. Nimueh had at least been protecting her shoulders from such exposure, her arm protective against her skin, but she withdrew it at the repeat of the younger woman’s question.

‘Why do you ask?’ Her attempt at nonchalance could have been laughable in another, so poorly hiding her defensive hurt. In Nimueh, however, such a tone caused Morgause’s face to heat, her eyes to dart from naked flesh, having clearly abused modesty too greatly to allow herself such a sight.

‘You told me when we first met that you would answer my questions. You haven’t yet.’

‘You have not asked.’

‘I ask now.’

‘Very well.’ With one hand cupped under Morgause’s chin, she forced her dark eyes to meet her own, unblinking. ‘I killed a woman.’

Nimueh waited for reaction from the girl, a melodramatic gasp as suiting her age and naivety, no fault of her own, yet she continued only to hold her gaze, face unchanged.

‘She was a Queen.’ A solitary blink, reaction only to physical necessity, as opposed to shock. ‘She was the wife of King Uther Pendragon.’

‘I knew her.’ Her voice was not one of outrage, horror or grief. Simply recognition of fact. ‘Ygraine, Queen of Camelot. She visited when I was a child.’

‘I killed her.’

‘Why?’

Nimueh frowned. The girl had lifted her own hand and taken the Priestess’, warm fingers curling around her palm. She had expected much from the conversation she had known to be imminent, but had not prepared herself for the look she now found on Morgause’s face. Compassion.

‘It was unintentional.’ She found herself explaining nonetheless, words drawn from her tongue by the soft light in the girl’s eyes. ‘Uther wanted a child, a son. Ygraine was not able, or had been unable. They had consulted physicians, prayed to any god they felt might listen. So Uther summoned me.’

She recalled the meeting vividly. He had looked older, sounded older, than the youthful valiant King she had heard much about. She had been a physician’s assistant, unimportant in the eyes of almost all she met, yet her origins were well known. She had listened to the desperate pleas of the king in silence, letting him weep even with no comment. He had eventually called his wife to the room, Nimueh recalled the effort it took her not to laugh as she met Ygraine, thinking all the time that the reasons for the couple’s barrenness could not be plainer than the young, skeletal figure in place of mother. But she had merely nodded, and agreed in ignorance.

‘It is sorcery beyond that taught here to create life. For all you may assume, creating life is a dark matter. It requires a sacrifice.’

‘A sacrifice? A human sacrifice?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you know?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you tell King Uther?’

‘No.’ She recognised now her mistake, of course, but she had been young, naïve in ignorance, drunk on pride. ‘I did not understand that, as always with the will of men, it would be a woman’s life sacrificed. I had assumed the sacrifice could be chosen, or would be unknown, but I was wrong. A child made by magic is strong, stronger than Ygraine’s body was ever capable of withstanding, and the birth of her son cost her life.’

‘That was not your fault.’

‘I should have foreseen such an event.’

‘You could not have done so. Is this why Zakiya hates you so?’

‘Uther took Ygraine’s death badly. His grief became rage which became hatred. He punished what he saw as responsible, sorcery. He began the purges.’

These Morgause had heard of, and her eyes widened in recognition, before narrowing in cold fury. ‘Sorcery was not to blame. His greed caused her death. His desire for a son he would not carry is what killed Ygraine.’

‘That is not how Uther saw it. Nor is it how Zakiya sees it even now.’

Morgause kissed her gently on the lips, before resting her head against her shoulder, an arm across her naked stomach. Her voice when she spoke was choked with the emotion of one suffering with crippling empathy. ‘I shall ignore everything Zakiya says for you. She is wrong. You are no Witch.’

The word had never caused Nimueh as much pain as when whispered from Morgause’s lips, pressed against her skin.


	6. The Isle of the Blessed: Chapter 5

**The Isle of the Blessed**

**Chapter 5**

The boat rocked unsteadily, despite the still of the water. Fog hung in the air, thick as cloth, white as snow. It was early morning but impossible to tell, the sun no more visible than the boats final destination. Sat within, the passenger glanced around in unease. Below heavy armour, dull in the poor light, he could feel sweat prickling in the pit of his arm, trickling uncomfortably down his back. In the distance, an owl hooted. His head turned quickly at the sound.

‘Scared, Leof?’

Sir Leofwine cringed at both the use of his disliked name, and the notice of his clear agitation. He shook his head at his fellow passenger, clad in similar crimson and gold. ‘No.’

‘You should be careful, Leof, the Witches here smell fear. They feed off it. Especially a man’s fear.’

‘You do not scare me,’ he lied. He could feel the cold terror in his veins, hairs standing on his clammy neck.

‘It’s not us you need to be scared of.’

‘No, it’s the Witches.’ He rolled his eyes, his growing irritation at his treatment from the senior men beginning to distract him from his own terror.

‘You should be less dismissive of your elders, Leofwine.’ One man, silent until this moment, glanced up with a dark frown. He spoke with barely more than a whisper, but enough to cause the young knight to shiver. ‘This is not a mere story. These women are not myths or legends. They are not just tales told to babes to make them sleep.’

‘I’m not scared of women.’

‘Then you’re a fool.’

‘The knights of Camelot need not fear an island of women.’ He spoke now with masculine arrogance, which withered almost immediately under his elder’s hardened stare.

‘Your lack of concern shames the armour you wear.’ He sneered. ‘The Isle houses not women but Witches, sorcerers, the practitioners of dark magic and evil deeds. These sorcerers have the power to destroy a kingdom; they do not fear violence or murder. It is their magic that caused the death of the late Queen, their magic that causes still the suffering of Camelot every day. And they will kill you should you not show them the fear they deserve.’

Something must have shown on his face for a man laughed. ‘You terrify the boy, Bryce. See how pale he has become.’

‘And he trembles.’ More chuckles, causing both Leofwine and his elder to scowl.

‘I warn him only of what he must know.’

‘And I do not tremble.’

Their laughter however was silenced by neither man, but by the emergence of the old stone through mist as the boats rocked to a halt against the shore. Close, the stone seemed more imposing than any castle in the Kingdoms any man aboard had seen. Its exterior seemed tinged with crimson, the building seeming to foreshadow itself the horrors to come.

Sir Bryce was the first to stand. He spoke plainly, without gesture, yet his words alone enough to wipe from each man’s face any remnant of amusement that remained. ‘Welcome to the Isle of the Blessed, men, and the Convent of the Triple Goddess.’

* * *

 

The wind was cold but could not mask the golden glow of the sun, high in the clear sky, and Morgause delighted in feelings its warm rays against bare skin. She was a giddy child again, basking in honeyed light, far away from stone walls that had felt more oppressive than safe in recent months. She preferred the jet eyed stares of the creatures whose homes she now walked through, the birds who sat on thick branches above peering down, the bush tailed squirrels and flop eared rabbits that darted back into long grass as she passed, than the distrustful watch of the Priestesses she had once called ‘Sister’. Even Zakiya, despite all attempts at maternal reconciliation, her hands very rarely far from Morgause’s shoulders, squeezing and stroking, could not keep doubt from her eyes as they met those of the girl she once called ‘daughter’. But today was not for such thoughts. Such thoughts could wait. Today was something different. Something far more valuable.

‘Morgause, you dawdle. And with every second lost, we lose the light we need. Hurry.’

The young Priestess grinned at her companion, her lover, who stood at the edge of the woods, scowling with impatience. Despite the frown, despite such sharp words, Morgause felt nothing but overwhelming joy at her face, joy clearly visible in her being for it caused Nimueh’s full lips to soften to a smile.

‘Come, Morgause, we lose time. Half of all sorcery is having all that you need collected. Roots and twine, the petals of the rarest flowers. The longer we delay, the fewer of these we find.’

If she had expected such persuasions to succeed, she was sadly mistaken. She found instead the girl running past her, golden curls a mere movement of colour, caught in the current, and she laughed with every step.

Nimueh turned to follow her. ‘You are a fool.’

‘And you love me, so who is the real fool?’

It was perhaps such a question, or the infectious glint in dark wide eyes, that caused Nimueh to run behind her. She felt her own heart lift, and a rare childlike giggle to escape her own red lips. She followed her only to the top of a small hill, where Morgause herself had collapsed, sprawled inelegantly, under a bare oak.

‘You’re slow, Nimueh,’ she remarked, an eyebrow arched, as the Priestess lowered herself beside her.

‘I am old.’

‘You claim to be. Your face says otherwise.’

‘You would not look at me should my face display my real age.’

‘I would. I’d love you all the same.’ She reached for Nimueh’s pale hand, lifting it to her lips for a soft kiss. ‘I’d love your hands if they were wrinkled and withered with time, like old bark.’ She turned to cup the other woman’s face gently. ‘I’d love you if your eyes crinkled and your lips thinned and your hair was white as bone.’

‘And what about my body, Morgause? Would you love me still if my back hunched and my legs limped and my breasts sagged?’ She pouted. ‘Would you love me then?’

‘I’d love you if your breasts fell to your ankles and you could only walk held against me.’ Despite the words, her face was painfully earnest. ‘I’d love you always, regardless.’

‘Then you really are a fool.’ She watched the reality of her harsh words bite her companion, dull her eyes, loosen her fingers’ grip against her skin, and she sighed. She kissed her softly. ‘My perfect fool.’

* * *

 

Leofwine was stood, eyes skyward, afraid that to look any which way would be to reveal how quickly his heart was thudding, or how itchy his skin was coated in sweat. The convent was larger now he was stood outside of its walls, stones older than him holding it high. If such sights as walls frightened him, he feared to imagine the women who lived within. At a barked order, he lowered his eyes.

‘Today, our job is simple. By the orders of the king, Uther Pendragon, ruler of Camelot, first of his name, the priestesses of the Triple Goddess have been declared heretics and traitors, for which the punishment is immediate death.’ Sir Bryce’s voice did not waiver or break throughout, as if indifferent to the execution orders he had just issued. He did not miss however the widening of his soldiers eyes. ‘Inside the convent, every woman must face this punishment, regardless of age, regardless of situation.’

‘Regardless of age?’

He turned to the speaker, the youngest knight. ‘You will encounter no children, Leofwine, their presence is not permitted on the Isle. This means every woman you meet has been complicit in her villainy, and fully deserving of her punishment.’

‘And must they be killed immediately?’ Bryce snapped his gaze to the new voice. It had originated from a knight now exchanging a smirk with those around him. He had no chance to see the sword hilt rammed hard into his stomach, causing him to double over with a surprised grunt.

‘You are a Knight of Camelot carrying out your legal duties on the orders of your King. You will do that and that alone.’ Bryce raised his voice again, addressing every man before him. ‘Today you are executioners, as is the King’s wishes. Should I discover you have not followed this instruction, or that you have chosen your own method of punishment, I will ensure you never return to Camelot unless it is to return in chains. Do you understand?’ He repeated the question until he saw each man respond, and he nodded. ‘Before we enter, men, you must remember the following: these women are dangerous. They may lie to you; deny all that they are accused of. They may beg for mercy, offer you all you desire in exchange for their lives. You must ignore all they say. They are sorcerers, vipers, Witches. They must die.’

* * *

 

Morgause lay in contentment on grass warm with syrup rays of sunlight, Nimueh’s arms wrapped around her, her lips pressed gently to the top of her head. Beneath her, the morning dew had bun to soak through her breeches, sat so still for so long, and she shivered.

‘I have enjoyed this.’

‘You speak as if you have never left the Isle before, never walked beyond its shores.’

Morgause twisted to flash a deep frown. ‘I haven’t. I’ve told you this.’

‘You have never left the convent?’ It was the other woman’s turn now to furrow her brow. ‘I had assumed you were joking, or exaggerating. Zakiya must have done this with you before, cross the waters to collect the plants not found on the Isle?’

‘No.’

‘Then I’m sorry.’ She stroked the girl’s head with long fingers before touching her lips again to a golden curl. ‘Had I known, I would have arranged something, taken you somewhere. Instead, we’re sat here and we have been collecting roots and leaves. I’ve been beastly.’

‘I couldn’t have wanted more.’ She leant back further, enjoying the feeling of Nimueh’s breasts against her back, her arms around her chest. ‘I didn’t realise it was possible to leave the Isle, not without exile.’

Nimueh couldn’t help but smile at the naivety. She was grateful the girl couldn’t see her. ‘Many a Priestess leaves frequently.’  

‘Why?’

‘Men, usually.’

‘I cannot understand.’ The girl shook her head dismissively as she spoke. At the other woman’s curious glances however, she found herself blushing. ‘I understand that, of course. I just cannot understand the appeal.’

‘Of men? Or of freedom following life in a convent surrounded only by women? The appeal is clear.’

‘Of men.’

‘You have admittedly met few.’

She twisted in Nimueh’s arms to face her with a frown. ‘You have met many. I suppose you understand the appeal well?’

‘You do not have the liberty of envy of a time before I knew you, child.’ Morgause stiffened in Nimueh’s arms, clothed marble against skin, and the older woman forced herself to thaw the ice on her tongue. ‘I’ll satisfy your curiosity. I do not want, nor have ever wanted a man, in any capacity. They are to me as animals, unknown and inferior. Or perhaps that is how I imagine they view me, something too unreadable, too unpredictable, to give any feeling of desire. I pity those who do want men, who can love men, for they possess not one fibre of being that is capable of real love in return.’

‘What about husbands for wives?’

‘A husband believes he possess his wife. One cannot love something that one believes they own. Meanwhile a wife’s love is merely servitude, painted well.’

‘A father for his daughter?’

‘A father would sooner kill his daughter than permit her possession of her own identity. Remember that, Morgause, you may never trust men.’

* * *

 

Her eyes widened, wide as he imagined eyes could go, as he thrust cold blade hard between her ribs with a low grunt. In fascination, Leofwine stared at her fallen body long after he pulled the sword free, relishing the gaze over her now sightless orbs. He wiped the metal against his cloak as he looked upon the carnage of his wake.

He had found the first one difficult. He could not imagine the life of a man who would not. To know that with one swing, one quick flash of a blade, he who had never yet seen bloodshed, could end a life. Yet Leofwine, who had pitied men before who spoke so fond of the sin of murder, felt only excitement as he cut into the bodies that stood before him  and struggled to fight a grin  as he heard the echo of his next victim hit the stone floor.

‘Leof. Leof.’ He raised his blade at the voice, lowering it only at the glint of armour from the figure running towards him. ‘We’ve been ordered back. We must leave.’

‘Our job is not complete.’

‘Sir Bryce is gone. Dead. They’ve set the place ablaze.’

‘Bryce cannot be dead. Not at the hands of these…’

‘Did you not hear me, Leof? The convent is alight. We must leave.’

He shook his head manically. ‘I cannot leave. Not now. Not without Bryce avenged.’

‘Then you will burn.’

‘Fire does not burn stone.’

‘This fire does.’ And ahead, his words were accompanied with the distant roar of flames.

* * *

 

It was smoke curling like crooked hag’s fingers in the sky, clutching up and above at distant trees, that caught Morgause’s attention. She climbed to her feet in haste; dark eyes fixated on the grey pillars drifting closer, the smell carried causing her nose to wrinkle even at such distance.

‘Something’s wrong.’

‘It’s fine. Fires happen in wooded areas, girl. Nothing to concern yourself over.’ Nimueh reached for the other woman’s hand to pull her back to the ground, but she shook off her touch.

‘No natural fire burns that strongly. That is sorcery.’

‘Don’t exaggerate.’

‘Do you not see it?’ She snapped, turning, a finger pointing as the smoke darkened, now nearly black in the sky above. ‘That is the Isle, Nimueh. We must go. We must…’

She had started to run before she had finished her own words. She ignored the cries behind her, her name in the wind, her eyes instead focused only on the fear coursing through her veins, stronger with every beat of her heart. She made no effort to avoid the branches of the woods, shaking their attempts to tangle in her long curls, grimacing only as they pulled at her skin, drawing blood. She stopped only at the shore and the sight before her, her fears realised.

‘The convent is ablaze.’

Even across the lake, unusually still, the smoke was thicker, the smell becoming nauseating, both enough to fill her eyes with thick tears. Though it was her anguished horror that allowed such tears to slip down her cheeks. It was only as she stood, fighting the sobs that threatened to overwhelm her at the destruction of her home, that she saw the boats still rocking slightly at the foot of the convent. And she felt her fingers curl, her fist clench, as realisation dawned upon her.

‘Morgause.’ She turned, her hair blazing with the bright glow of flames behind her. Nimueh emerged from the trees at the shore’s edge cautiously, as if unsure how to approach the girl with rage etched across her face.

‘The Isle, Nimueh. Our home. Destroyed.’

‘I can see.’

‘And you know by whom?’ The red and gold flag of the boats still fluttered in the wind, unknowingly giving away the secrets of all those they carried. ‘Camelot. The Pendragons. They have declared war.’

A lick of the lips. ‘I know.’

The red still flickered across the lake. ‘We must go.’

‘We can do nothing.’

‘That is no excuse.’ One boat lay moored at the shore. Nimueh gripped her wrist, white fingers against flushed skin. ‘You try to stop me?’

‘We can do nothing,’ she repeated, deaf to the girl’s protests.

‘We can do something.’

‘You are weak, Morgause.’ She ignored the shooting glare from dark eyes. ‘You are weak compared to the men you shall find there. They are Uther’s knights, trained assassins, merciless killers. Brutes. Rapists. You cannot oppose them.’

‘You can. You know the magic needed. For our sisters, Nimueh.’

She pleaded, desperation seeped into every word, yet if she expected such attempt to work, she was to face disappointment. For Nimueh’s voice was cold when she replied. ‘Your sisters. Not mine.’

‘You may turn against them for how they have treated you, but you cannot allow them to die.’

‘I do not.’

‘Then help me.’ She shook herself free from the other woman’s grasp. The lone boat still rocked softly in the water. At the sight of the Priestess still stood motionless on the shore, Morgause stopped her approach to the boat. ‘Come.’

‘I killed the Priestesses, Morgause.’ Her lips moved slowly, words heavy against her tongue, yet heavier in the air. At the girl’s silence, she forced her voice louder. ‘I killed the Priestesses.’

‘No. Camelot. The knights who wield the swords. I don’t understand.’

As she stammered, her face lined with deep frown, she saw a darkening of the other woman’s eyes. In short strides, she was before her, face as cold and still as sculpted marble. Morgause did not see her even raise her hand until she felt it hard against her cheek.

‘You little fool.’ Nimueh grabbed the girl’s hands, holding them tight to her. It was an apology, a comfort, and restraint merged in a solitary act. ‘You perfect naïve little fool.’

‘Let me go.’

‘Do you think the knights discovered the Isle by themselves, Morgause? That they decided on destruction on no more than a whim? They were told. They were told where to go, what time, what to do. I told them.’

She held tight, despite all of the girl’s attempts to pull away, jerking her wrists, pushing her chest. ‘Why?’

‘You know nothing, Morgause. You truly know nothing.’ Her voice was venomous and repulsive, far more so for all the effort she made to soften her cadence for the girl. She hated the grimace of fear on her face. ‘I had no choice. No choice. Such a decision was not mine, not truly. I would be hunted by Uther Pendragon for the rest of my life for the crimes he blames me for, unless I offered him something in return. And I am no stag to be pursued and killed. I never will be.’

‘You had them all killed? For yourself?’

She had weakened her grip as she spoke, and Morgause took back her hands with a snarl, her wrath etched onto her face as if cut with a knife. Nimueh however was looking weaker by comparison, her self-assurance lost in the face of such fury.

‘I did it for us both. For you also. Your future was not with them. They offered you nothing.  Stone walls and imprisonment.  I offer you life. Life that is yours to choose. Life beyond the demands of Zakiya and her fears and her ignorance…’

It was her turn now to feel the sharp sting of a loved one’s hand across the cheek. But, off-guard, she fell to the pebbled ground, and fell the cut of stone against her hands. Morgause did not move. She stood, eyes cast downwards in recognition only of what she had done. She did not ask forgiveness.

‘You do not offer me a life of choice, for you have taken the choice I would make. And if there has been ignorance shown it was by me alone, not Zakiya.’

‘Morgause…’

‘Go. Do not return. Go wherever you must but it must be from me.’

‘Morgause…’

‘Go.’ The word was a scream, a scream to shield the sound of her heart shattering with every word that left her mouth. A scream of anguish as the woman scrambled to her feet, the last living person who had shown her concern, affection. A scream to quell her primal urge to scratch, to bite. A scream to prevent the tears that stung her eyes from falling as she watched the other woman turn and disappear amongst dark trees, the glint of her eyes the last sight of her Morgause would ever know.

But flames still burnt across the lake, hot even above still water. And that was where her gaze fell now. On dark smoke rising above her and fire that roared a dragon’s roar in her ears.


End file.
